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Pine started and looked earnestly at his companion. "Yes. She told Mrs. Belgrove's fortune one day when she met her in the park, and also tried to make Lady Agnes cross her hand with silver for the same purpose. Nothing came of that, however, as your wife refused to have her fortune told." Pine frowned and looked uneasy, remembering that Chaldea knew of his Gentile masquerading.

With her ruddy complexion and ruddy hair, and piercing blue eyes, and magnificent figure for she really had a splendid figure in spite of Mrs. Belgrove's depreciation she looked like a gigantic Norse goddess. With a flashing display of white teeth, she came along swinging her stick, or whirling her shillalah, as Mrs. Belgrove put it, and seemed the embodiment of coarse, vigorous health.

Belgrove's remark. "I'd be a happier woman if I had something else to attend to than dinners. I wish we all lived on roots, so that Garvington could dig them up for himself." "My dear, he'd send you out with a trowel to do that," said Mrs. Belgrove humorously. "But why does Garvington want to shoot Noel?" "Oh, he doesn't. I never said he did. Clara Greeby made the remark.

"He ought to be here enjoying himself instead of living like a hermit in the wilds." "He's painting pictures," put in Lady Garvington. "Do hermits paint?" "No. Only society women do that," said Miss Greeby cheerfully, and Mrs. Belgrove's faded eyes flashed. She knew that the remark was meant for her, and snapped back.

Belgrove's fortune in the park, and afterwards she came to the drawing-room to tell it again. I wonder if she stole the paper while she was in the house." "Even if she did, an uneducated gypsy could not have forged the letter." "She might have got somebody to do so," suggested Miss Greeby, nodding.